Jon Snow turned suddenly and saw that an arrow had lodged deeply in the fake businessman's left shoulder blade, close to his heart. The man collapsed to the ground, his face pale, scarlet blood staining his blue brocade robes.
The fake businessman twitched violently, but no one around paid him any attention.
"Catch him!" Harui ordered. His servants and nearby salt workers pulled out iron swords hidden beneath salt bags on the mule carts and swarmed toward the nearby woods.
Several freeriders appeared out of nowhere, charging in the direction from which the arrow had been fired.
Harui's eyes flashed with excitement and bloodlust, completely ignoring Jon's presence.
Yet this wasn't a good opportunity for Jon to attack him, as several swordsmen dressed as salt workers had gathered around Harui, their eyes alert and watchful.
These salt workers were mercenaries in disguise! How dare he recruit mercenaries? So bold! An imperceptible surprise crossed Jon's face.
Then he realized his plan had been disrupted.
Jon wasn't concerned about these fake salt workers being exposed as mercenaries—even with mercenaries present, his plan could have succeeded.
As long as there were no mules and carts between him and the salt mine's gate, it would take only seconds to flee after striking. And outside the mine lay the King's Road.
What did it matter if a few mercenary cavalry were hidden outside?
They were riding mere river horses. His white steed was a descendant of the Dornish Sand Horses, renowned for their endurance. Though it had traveled nearly sixty kilometers, it had maintained a comfortable ten-kilometer-per-hour trot at the beginning and rested for an hour and a half at midday.
Jon could feel that his mount wasn't seriously fatigued. In this state, once he escaped the mine, those river horses wouldn't catch him even if they sprouted wings.
Actually, even with wings, they'd have no chance. What mount could match his?
Unfortunately, Jon looked at Harui and saw that another player had acted, placing four heavily armed swordsmen around him. Jon had completely lost his chance to strike.
"What's happening?" Jon asked calmly, pretending to be confused by the unfolding events.
"Oh, Sir, there's something you don't know," Harui's tone became cheerful as his prey appeared. He seemed indifferent to Jon's attitude—he had caught his fish, so who cared about salt from this mine?
Indeed, could anyone truly be interested in the profit from just a few bags of salt?
"I have an enemy who's been pursuing me for some time," Harui explained. He still didn't doubt Jon's identity. "So I set a trap here. Don't worry, Sir, I'll depart soon."
It didn't matter whether the explanation was reasonable. Personal vendettas happened in the Riverlands. It wasn't Jon's place, as a Lannister bastard, to interfere. So Harui's explanation remained casual.
As for the bastard—believe it or not, what do I care? I just lied to you—come and challenge me if you dare!
"So you're the true owner of this caravan?" Despite everything, Jon feigned surprise.
"Yes, Sir." Harui nodded with a smile, his attitude both contemptuous and respectful.
Shortly after, commotion erupted. The mercenaries who'd pursued the assassin returned. A freerider, leading a man in an ordinary short shirt with a bloodied face, dragged him with a rope toward them.
The man was clearly a Brotherhood hunter. Jon couldn't tell if he'd come to the salt mine deliberately hunting merchants or if he'd simply spotted Harui while passing and rashly attacked.
Jon suspected the latter. This man could shoot an arrow through the impostor's heart from 120 yards—clearly a master archer in his previous life.
Yet he dared attack without fully understanding the situation, falling directly into Harui's trap. His skill with a bow wasn't matched by his intelligence.
The Brotherhood hunter ran desperately, struggling to keep pace with the rider leading him by rope. As the horse's speed increased, he finally fell, being dragged across gravel. His flesh tore, blood smearing a clear trail on the ground.
As the victorious freerider drew closer, the wine stains on his beard becoming visible, Jon's mood darkened.
He glanced at Harui again. The four swordsmen remained vigilant. Like Jon, they wore no armor. Jon doubted he could attack Harui under their protection and escape unharmed.
As more than a dozen other mercenaries returned one by one, Jon knew he'd completely missed his opportunity to strike.
Perhaps I should let it go? He hasn't discovered my identity. I need only do nothing to leave alive. Jon retreated mentally. Even if the first-blood mission is lost, with my disguise, I can still accomplish other tasks in Salt Harbor Town. As long as a merchant can earn four points, I'll establish a foothold in this world. I shouldn't be greedy.
But as he raised his head, his eyes fell on the Brotherhood hunter, hands bound, being led before Harui by two men.
Harui raised his dagger but stopped just before plunging it into the Brotherhood hunter's neck. His hand trembled slightly, revealing his hesitation.
"Do you need me to do this for you, sir?" a mercenary asked.
"No, that won't be necessary." Harui quickly shook his head. You do it for me? A joke! If you do this for me, I'll lose two points!
Yet Harui held the dagger aloft, still unable to strike.
You hesitate too? Jon smiled bitterly to himself. So you're also a player from a law-abiding society, with a natural fear of killing.
As Jon pondered, his gaze returned to the Brotherhood hunter.
He's so close to me. At that moment, Jon conceived a bold idea that surprised even himself.
Less than two meters away—accounting for the length of my arm and sword, exactly the distance for a thrust. Their attention isn't on me. I could take this head with a single draw of my sword. I just need a reason!
Jon's eyes narrowed to slits, his vision focused solely on the captured player.
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